- From Fly Creek
From Fly Creek: Washing our hands, our spirits
Last Sunday had been overcast all day, and a slow drizzle began to fall around three-thirty. That didn’t bode well for Cooperstown’s 9/11 commemoration, scheduled for 6:30 p.m. that evening at the foot of the lake.
From Fly Creek: Ten years of loss
The date Sept. 11 is as carved into our hearts as is Dec. 7 for those who were alive on that awful day in 1941. On both days our sense of security, of unquestioned invulnerability, was shattered. We were left shaken, changedperhaps forever.
From Fly Creek: ‘We done a good job’
Back on the tractor again. After supper, almost twilight, but enough brightness left to mow our little west field. Already enough hint of evening, though, that the rooster and hens, on the lawn beyond the fence’s wire, are doing their bug-catching close to the chicken yard’s open gate.
From Fly Creek: Selling, Fly Creek style
A loyal Fly Creeker, I always try to tout new hamlet businesses. One has recently popped up, and maybe you’ve already noted it. The Kantor family of Portabello’s, after adding a great new lunch menu, has now spun off a subsidiary.
From Fly Creek: Larger than life
Thirty Christmases ago, Hutzler’s Department Store in Maryland routinely hired a Santa. It was a triumph of typecasting. For when my late, dear friend Albert Fields donned the costume, a metamorphosis took place.
From Fly Creek: Important odds and ends
Well, these odds and ends are important to me, at least. They’re events that I don’t want to forget. And, since I cut out and save columns as do some of you, I’m recording the events right here. Hey, giveme some slack! I’m old and I forget things fast.
From Fly Creek: Wobbling home
When I realized that I’d be away, right up to this week’s deadline for a column, I cameupon a good solution. If not a brainstorm; at least it was a lucid moment. I said to myself, “Self, why not share with readers the introduction to your forthcoming book, due out in mid-August? They’re probably curious, and it would be a sly piece of marketing, too. What do you say to that, self?”
Of course I agreed at once. After all, who am I to contradict me?
From Fly Creek: You go figure ...
My great-uncle Tom, who weighed about three hundred, looked like an owl. His legs were skinny and short, but his body was as round as a horned owl with its plumage fluffed.
From Fly Creek: Cicero gives grades to Lincoln
Just now I am a man more than two millennia out of place. I died, after all, in 43 B.C., famed as a thinker, orator, adviser to emperors and political maneuverer. I was murdered in my early 40s.
From Fly Creek: Last novel column, I promise!
Two weeks ago I had great fun telling youabout Katherine Anne Porter’s appearance at La Salle College when, as a young Christian Brother, I was doing studies there. I loved recalling that appearance, not just a reading, but a stage performance as well. For that charmer, at the same age I am now, had by then created a persona of a southern doyenne, aging but still a coquette.
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- From Fly Creek: Washing our hands, our spirits